


Up On The Housetop

by IAmANonnieMouse



Series: Up on the Housetop [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Christmas, Crack, Holidays, I Don't Even Know, M/M, santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8881054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: “Bugger,” a voice said, muffled. “Bloody Americans can’t clean their damn chimneys?”Arthur slowly stepped closer, still clutching the vacuum in one hand. “Um,” he said. “Hello?”Another plume of soot fell out. The man inside Dom’s chimney coughed, once. “Hello,” he said.“You’re in the chimney,” Arthur observed.“Quite so,” the man agreed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Christmas music this morning, and I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus came on, and it struck me that it seemed a very Arthur/Eames thing, in the way that nearly everything can become an Arthur/Eames thing. And then I wrote this.

It was, Arthur decided, completely Dom’s fault. He stared at the torn and crumpled wrapping paper that surrounded him in consternation, and at the pile of gifts waiting nearby. He glanced at the clock. _11:37_.

“Goddam it,” he said.

He had arrived at Dom’s house at four, just in time to entertain the kids before their Christmas Eve dinner. And afterwards, when James and Pippa were lounging on the couch laughing at Will Ferrell in green tights, Dom pulled him aside and whispered, “Listen, Arthur, could you do me a huge favor?” and escorted him into the basement closet where all of his children’s gifts sat, completely unwrapped. “You can wait until they go to sleep,” Dom had offered with a smile, patting Arthur on the back and putting a roll of wrapping paper in his hands.

Except the wrapping paper was cheap and tore too easily, and the tape had run out, and Arthur was now sitting on the floor, the decorated Christmas tree offering only a little more light than a candle would, as he tried to recreate Jesus’ miracle with the fish and bread, but with tape and wrapping paper instead.

It wasn’t working.

He glanced at the clock again. _11:44_.

“Dom,” he muttered at the stubbornly empty roll of tape in his hands, “I am going to fucking kill you.”

And of course Dom lived in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere, so the nearest store was hours away. 

He pushed himself to his feet and staggered into the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of wine. There was a piece of folded-over tape stuck to the back of his arm. He carefully inspected it in the semi-dark but decided it was too small to be of any use to him. Wine in hand, he walked back over to the Christmas tree and studied it, eyes drifting to the stockings hanging on the fireplace. If only Dom had bought smaller gifts…

He glanced at the clock again. _11:58_.

With a long sigh, he put his glass on the small table that held Santa’s cookies and milk, deciding to make the most of what he had and at least arrange the few wrapped presents under the tree in a nice way, when he heard a noise on the roof. He paused, glancing up, then reached for the first gift.

_Scrriipp._

His head jerked up again. Now he could hear light taps and semi-rhythmic thumps. He cocked his head to the side. Was that…bells?

He slowly stood again, taking a long sip of his wine. Of course Dom would develop some weird sleepwalking habit the night before Christmas.

He took a moment to psych himself out to walk into Dom’s room in the middle of the night—last time he’d done it had been years ago, and they both agreed to never speak of that incident ever again—but as he took his first step, a large cloud of soot fell into the fireplace from the chimney, billowing out into the main room. Arthur grabbed his glass of wine and covered it with his hand.

“Great,” he said, staring at the black soot that coated the rug, “one more thing to worry about.”

Thanking the gods that Dom’s kids were heavy sleepers, he made his way to the closet under the stairs, wresting the vacuum from the collection of mops, swiffers, brooms, and collapsible chairs inside as quietly as possible. He made it back to the room just in time to see another large mountain of soot settle on the rug—and to spot the two large, shiny, black boots dangling over the empty fireplace.

“Bugger,” a voice said, muffled. “Bloody Americans can’t clean their damn chimneys?”

Arthur slowly stepped closer, still clutching the vacuum in one hand. “Um,” he said. “Hello?”

Another plume of soot fell out. The man inside Dom’s chimney coughed, once. “Hello,” he said.

“You’re in the chimney,” Arthur observed.

“Quite so,” the man agreed. “Bit dusty in here, to be sure.”

“Why are you in the chimney?” Arthur asked.

The man hesitated. “Give me one moment, would you, love?” The feet started wriggling, and then, with another, larger cloud of ash, the man fell out of the chimney, landing in a soot-streaked lump on the floor. “Umph,” the man said.

Arthur stared. “Now you’re in the house,” he said.

The man sat up and blinked blearily. Underneath the soot and the beard, he seemed to have a somewhat attractive face, Arthur noted. He looked at the rest of the man’s outfit.

“Oh, come on,” he said as he took in the red pants and jacket, trimmed in white fur. “Did a guy dressed as Santa just break into the house?”

The man frowned attractively. “I did not _break in,_ ” he said, standing up. “I’m invited into these homes.”

“Oh really?” Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I am, I—” The man stopped, glanced over at the milk and cookies. “Hold that thought,” he said and devoured the cookies in seconds. “Gingerbread,” he murmured, reaching for the glass of milk, “my favorite.”

“What the fuck!” Arthur shouted, grabbing the glass of milk from him. “These are for Santa, you fuckwit!”

The man raised his eyebrows. “One, you shouldn’t use that kind of language around children,” he said. “Two”—he gestured to himself in a broad, sweeping motion—“exactly.” Daintily, he pulled the glass out of Arthur’s hand and drained it.

Arthur stared at him.

The man licked his lips. “Say,” he said, “you don’t happen to have any carrots, do you? The reindeer are getting downright cranky about it, nobody seems to leave them out anymore.”

Arthur, for lack of anything better to do, walked into the kitchen and reemerged with a bag of baby carrots. The man inspected them, lips pursed. “Hm,” he said and took them. “Thank you.”

“Who the hell are you?” Arthur blurted.

The man’s eyebrows rose. “Santa, love,” he said. He didn’t say _obviously,_ but Arthur heard it anyway.

“You’re not Santa,” Arthur said. “Santa isn’t real.”

“Tell that to the reindeer waiting on your roof,” the man said. He glanced around the room, taking in the unwrapped gifts and empty rolls of tape. “Is there a problem, love?”

Arthur sighed. “My shitty excuse of a friend asked me to wrap all of his kids’ gifts for him. But he ran out of paper. And tape.”

The man nodded slowly. “Right.” He shuffled back over to the fireplace and whistled up the chimney. A lumpy bag landed at his feet, tied with curling ribbon. Inside were several rolls of wrapping paper and tape. “Well,” the man said, holding out a roll towards Arthur with a small smile, “shall we?”

And so they sat together on the soot-covered rug and wrapped presents. The man was actually very good at it.

“Don’t your elves do this for you?” Arthur asked, handing the man another piece of tape.

“Oh, you know how it is,” the man said breezily. “They want higher wages and fewer hours and go on strike, and somebody has to pick up the slack, because nobody ever cancels Christmas, so.” He shrugged theatrically.

Arthur nodded, because he didn’t know how it was at all.

When they finished wrapping everything, the man stood, brushing soot off his pants, and said, “One moment, love, I’ll clean up all this mess,” and he whistled up the chimney again. A small device landed at his feet, and he beamed as he picked it up. “Watch this,” he said to Arthur, and he pressed a button.

For a moment, it looked like nothing happened, but then the man pointed the device at the rug under his feet, and all the soot was silently sucked into it until the rug was spotless. He cleaned around the rest of the room too, and pointed it at Arthur briefly before Arthur shoved it away, smiling.

Then, he whistled up the chimney again and caught the presents that were thrown down. He gingerly placed them under the tree.

When he was finished, Arthur said, “But you’re not really Santa,” and couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement.

The man smiled broadly and stepped closer. Arthur backed up, uncertain, until his back was against the wall. The man leaned in, his eyes twinkling. “Maybe,” he breathed, cupping Arthur’s face in one of his hands, “but you, love, can call me Eames,” and he kissed Arthur gently, sweetly, until Arthur wrapped his arms around the back of Eames’ neck and pulled him impossibly closer.

He tasted of gingerbread and milk and mint and Arthur didn’t quite understand how any of this was happening to him right now, but he wasn’t about to question it. 

Eames pulled away slowly and placed a light kiss on the tip of Arthur’s nose. “Sorry, love,” he whispered, “but I have to go. Can’t cancel Christmas, even for a pretty face.”

Arthur smiled. “Duty calls.”

“Indeed.” Eames brushed his lips over Arthur’s eyelids. “Close your eyes, love.”

“You gonna climb back up the chimney?” Arthur asked, keeping his eyes shut. He could hear Eames moving around the room.

“Don’t be silly, love,” Eames said. “What do you take me for? I’m going to use the door.”

A few moments later, Arthur felt a gust of cold air, then heard the soft snick of the door closing. He hesitated, then opened his eyes. There was no Eames in sight. The lights on the Christmas tree twinkled softly at him.

~+~+~

Arthur woke up to James and Pippa’s shrill screams. “Santa came!” James cried, leaping onto Arthur’s stomach. “Arthur! Santa came!”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, sitting up from where he had apparently fallen asleep on the couch. “Yeah, he did.”

Dom smiled knowingly at Arthur, holding his half-empty wine glass. “One too many?” he asked.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Whose fault might that be?” he asked.

“Here, Arthur,” Pippa said, shoving a small box in his hands, “this one’s for you!”

Arthur glanced down at it. The wrapping paper had carrots on it, of all things, and the bow was a small clump of curling ribbon. He carefully untied the ribbon and peeled away the paper. Across the room, James and Pippa were excitedly tearing into their own gifts.

“Nice job on the wrapping,” Dom said to him. Arthur just looked at him. Dom gestured to the unwrapped box in his lap. “What’s inside?”

“Daddy!” Pippa shouted. “Look what Santa got me!” She was holding a water gun.

“Daddy!” James shouted. “Santa got me one too!”

“Arthur!” Dom hissed as he ran to his kids.

Arthur ignored him and slowly pulled the cover off the box and smiled. Inside was a single bell, and a note.

 _Thank you for a lovely evening,_ the note read. _Christmas lights become you._

_E._

_PS: Sorry about the water guns. Thought it would be sweet revenge for your shitty excuse of a friend._


End file.
